We live in a universe filled with billions of stars, galaxies that sound like fancy candy brands, and cosmic energy no one really understands but everyone likes to quote on Instagram. Which makes me believe: maybe each of us carries some of that energy too, the kind that binds us, annoys us, and occasionally makes us do karaoke when we promised we wouldn’t.
Now, imagine this: I tell you that you’ve got 25 days to live. Just 25. What do you do? Chances are, you’re not spending them doomscrolling or fake-laughing at your coworker’s jokes. No! You’d probably cling to the people you love, squeeze out every ounce of joy, and hand out kindness like free Wi-Fi. You’d basically become the best version of yourself, right before the curtain falls.
Which raises a rude question: if we’d live like that when time is short, why don’t we do it when we’ve got decades? Answer: because we’re human. And humans are…well, pretentious little liars. We say we’ll call, but we don’t. We say “let’s hang out,” but we mean “let’s never speak again.” We hide in crowds, slap on masks, sugarcoat truths until they rot.
The funny part? Vulnerability—the thing we run from like it’s bad Wi-Fi—is actually the thing that makes us most human. When we let our guard down, when we’re awkward, when we admit we don’t have it together, that’s when we’re actually bearable to each other. That’s when we’re real.
So maybe the art of vulnerability is less about crying into a journal and more about being shamelessly, stupidly honest. Saying “I miss you” without waiting for the perfect moment. Owning up when you messed up instead of inventing a PowerPoint excuse. Laughing at yourself before the universe does it for you.
Because here’s the secret: everyone’s faking it anyway. Vulnerability just means you’re the one brave enough to admit it.
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